So Close, So Far
by SingularToast
Summary: He was insufferable and she was an incorrigible wretch. Not one meeting between the two ended in anything but harsh words or passionate vows of hatred. But for two loyal souls, how soon would that passion boil over? Even the most faithful had their breaking point.
1. Chapter 1

Garsiv knew that since long before he was even born the people of Persian felt secure within their Kingdom. Their Empire was one of the mightiest forces the world had ever seen, and King Sharaman and his brother Nizam ruled justly and wisely throughout their lands. For many generations, it has been said that the bond between brothers is the sword that defends the great Persian Empire.

It was all a damned lie.

Seething, feeling like a rug had quite literally been swept out from beneath his feet, Garsiv paced the room he had been placed in. He paid no attention to the bawdy decorations or the delicate frippery that was scattered around the bedroom – clearly set aside as a royal suite of some sort – and instead focussed solely on his thoughts.

Though he held about as much derision for his thoughts as he did the ridiculous room around him.

"Our Uncle," he muttered under his breath as he paced, snorting at the thought. "Our own Uncle! Plotting treason!" The very idea was beyond ridiculous, and yet Nizam had threatened Dastan's life in front of the entire Persian army, on the steps of this very palace. In one foul swoop he had both proved Dastan's claims and sealed his own fate.

Their father wouldn't be happy. The Alamutians certainly weren't, crying out about desecrating the grounds with tainted blood. Nonsense. Pagan fools. But Tus had stepped in and did his part and Dastan did what he could, while Garsiv himself calmed the soldiers and ordered that they retreated a little further from the Alamutian temple and palace. A treasonous snake had wheedled and tricked them all into this invasion against a peaceful Kingdom, one that had never set foot outside the valley it was nestled in. The least he could do was call off his troops.

He growled at the injustice of it all, refusing to let himself think for even a moment that his anger and hurt might actually be caused by his grieving the loss of a once dear Uncle. Garsiv shed his helmet and hurled it across the room, watching as it hit the opposite wall with a satisfying crack.

"I'd ask that you not decimate our guest rooms as well," said a voice from the doorway behind him. "But even I can admit that you may have just cause for being so aggravated."

Whirling around, Garsiv blinked and straightened, interlocking his hands behind him when he spotted a young woman at his door. "I won't bother to apologise. I'd hazard a guess that the wall fared better than my helm."

The slim brunette's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "Then perhaps it is I who should apologise for the damage." Then her eyes sharpened and emotion flashed within their depths. "Though you have already spent enough time this day hurling debris at our walls. Maybe the clay is just seeking its revenge."

Drawing himself up, not used to being spoken to so callously by a mere wench, Garsiv demanded, "Do you know who you're talking to, woman?"

"Yes, though I don't doubt you'd be happy to proclaim yourself regardless." Somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite the fact that she was a good few hands shorter than he, the woman raised her chin haughtily and advised, "Your company is gathering in the royal chambers to make amends for their atrocities against our city. I believe you are required to be there."

Narrowing his gaze at the woman, Garsiv took several steps forward, bringing him within very close range of her body. "Are all Alamutian women this insolent? Or is this just a fortunate trait you alone have been blessed with?"

Her lips curved with a mirthless smile once more. "I hardly think I'd be the only one. The royal chambers, Persian. Now."

Following slowly as she stepped out the door, Garsiv paused and watched as the woman walked away, her cream robes swaying behind her.

It is common knowledge within his cavalry that it is unwise to provoke this particular Persian Prince. Some make the mistake of saying he's hot-headed. Even those outside his own company of soldiers know or realise that it is a bad idea to cross him. This woman should have been meekly begging his pardon, not sneering and voicing censure at his actions.

Or smiling.

Removing his armour and donning more suitable attire, Garsiv moved slowly as, for the first time that afternoon, he was distracted from thoughts of his brother and the development with their Uncle. Instead, his mind lingered on the brunette spit-fire that had just left his room.

A hint of a smile tugging at his own lips, Garsiv cinched the belt at his waist and walked out to meet with his brothers as demanded.

* * *

><p>Keeping her features calm and still was an impossibility, though it was one she had to manage regardless.<p>

But seeing the shocked look on the Prince's face upon entering the room behind his brothers had Tamina biting back a loud bark of laughter. Only one of her ladies maids noticed her amusement and hid her own tittering giggle behind a hand before schooling her features back into a neutral expression.

Her champion led the Persians to the foot of her elaborately decorated throne, having requested the task personally. From the way the youngest Prince's eyes darted to the man's bandaged arm and the glare Asoka shot back in return, she hazarded a guess that the two of them had met earlier.

The scene reminded her of her mistake only a short time before, and Tamina mentally cursed

She had intended to meet this young Prince when she had intercepted the servants from fetching the Persian royals. The man had not only broken past her city's defences and slaughtered a number of her soldiers, but he'd then single-handedly halted the march on her palace and brought the invasion to an end. Enemy and murderous warrior or not, he had saved her city. Tamina had wanted to meet the man who could turn full circle in such a short amount of time.

But instead she had stumbled upon _him_.

Prince Tus was the heir, making the city's saviour Prince Dastan, and leaving only the middle child; the brooding, callous and battle-hardened royal warrior.

Since his reputation had proceeded him, his remarkable lack of restraint in front of her should not have fascinated her so. He spoke bluntly and honestly, and she had the oddest feeling that even if he had the chance to do over their conversation now, he would choose to speak the very same words he had before.

Not that she was entirely blameless for his anger. Her anger had gotten the better of her and she'd spoken out of turn, purposefully riling the already irate Prince. And yet while seeing his face and hearing his words earlier had only heightened her hurt emotions, now she could barely contain her laughter as Prince Garsiv stared at her.

A calculating gleam sparkled in his eye, and his look of grudging respect made her lips twitch with a satisfied smile.

She was recalled to the purpose of the gathering before her when Prince Tus stepped forward to address her. As Asoka moved to take his place at her back, Tamina refocussed her attention to the man in front of her.

"Princess of Alamut. I was misled to attack your city. Forgive me, highness. Let me try to make amends."

He spoke clearly and openly, and even she had to admit that his words would speak volumes to the High Council standing behind her. It seemed this heir was well on his way to succeeding as the great ruler his father was rumoured to be; he was wise to quickly atone for the insult to Alamut.

Taking a breath, Tamina reached up and drew the hood of her royal robe back. A few other deep breaths were drawn in the room as some men had their first real glimpse of her face, but her gaze didn't stray from Prince Tus as he continued.

"It would be to our mutual advantage that our nations be united by a bond stronger than friendship."

Prince Tus conveniently turned away to address the crowd before her, missing the tight clench of her jaw and the swift frown that graced her features. The reality of the situation settled around her, and Tamina wiped all expression from her face.

"Marriage!"

An alliance. An unplanned one, if the surprised glance shared by the other two Persian Princes was any indication.

"Your marriage, to one who is both conqueror and saviour of your city."

Watching, curious, as Tus descended the short stairway back to his brothers, she was further surprised by his next words. Gripping the youngest Prince's shoulders, he turned with a bright expression and announced, "Dastan!"

The look on Dastan's face would have been comical if she wasn't as stunned by the decision as he was.

"Royal blood or not, he is every bit a son to our father. Every bit a brother to Garsiv and me. A true Prince of Persia."

A steely gaze caught her eye, and Tamina's gaze slid to Garsiv. Instead of watching his brothers, the Persian's gaze was locked on her.

A lazy smile graced his features, and yet she couldn't decide if it was indeed a smile, or an amused smirk at the situation she now found herself in. Perhaps the two expressions were one and the same.

But then he looked away, reached up to grip Dastan's shoulder, and she saw that sardonic smile soften as he gazed at his brother.

Wrenching her thoughts away from _that_ _man_, Tamina called her focus to more important issues; namely, being thrust into a marriage born of war.

The Persians were correct. Any alliance with their Empire would greatly help aid the defence of Alamut. But what of its people, it's culture?

What of the secrets The Alamutians had been guarding for thousands of years?

An alliance with Persia would help them prosper, but could cripple their way of life. They followed new Gods, new orders. They sought power.

She could seethe at the presumption of these invaders, but her foremost concern had to be the safety of the city. With the rising threat of the eastern Warlord Kosh, she had no other choice.

Caught up in her thoughts, she missed the moment when Garsiv leaned in to speak to his younger brother, murmuring, "Get up there before I take you place," against his ear.

With a hand each, the two Princes urged Dastan up the few steps to stand before the Princess, and she watched with interest as the boy – man, he looked more like a man up close – stuttered a greeting. His quiet, almost nervous voice filled the silent room, and Tamina felt her amusement bubble as he joked about his lack of a betrothal gift.

But the sight the Dagger of Time being drawn from the sash at his waist had Tamina staring in shock as he knelt and presented it before her.

The Dagger. He had stolen the Dagger, and was now … returning it.

Thoughts of Garsiv, of marriage, of anything besides this man and this gesture fled her mind. She tried to comprehend what this could mean. He obviously knew it belonged to her, that it may have some important meaning to her.

How much did he know? Is this why the Persians had invaded in the first place? And what had prompted him to return it?

Questions swirled unanswered through her mind as she took the Dagger from his grasp. Attempting to maintain the calm countenance she had otherwise held through this meeting, Tamina tried to control her whirling emotions long enough to suggest he walk with her.

Away from prying eyes, where she could possibly find the answers she sought.

* * *

><p>The Princess of Alamut.<p>

The knowledge that the feisty woman he had encountered earlier had in fact been this Kingdom's reigning monarch had completely thrown him. Had she some ulterior motive to visit his chambers? Perhaps to see with her own eyes the man who had lead the attack against her city.

Well, as far as Garsiv was concerned she could look her fill; and he would not apologise for the attack. Strategically, Alamut was easily defendable and conveniently placed in Persia's borderlands. A strong outpost that would only help expand their mighty empire.

The pleased glint in her eyes earlier bothered him though. She found his shock at the revelation of her identify _amusing_ did she? Blasted wench, she would do well to curb that insolent streak of hers. Strong women were all very well, but if she was to be Dastan's bride Garsiv had no doubt that the two would butt horns on more than one occasion.

Though the idea of little Dastan marrying that woman – _Tamina_, he might as well call her by her name – amused him to no end. The boy wouldn't know what to do with a woman like that! All fire and passion, and possessing a beauty to rival even Tus' comely wives.

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Garsiv's mirth faded and he frowned fiercely. That was no way to think about his brother's future wife.

Jerked from his thoughts by the hollow echo of approaching footsteps, Garsiv reminded himself of why he was waiting alone outside the Alamutian's royal throne room, having stayed long after Tus had lead their men away. He'd mentioned waiting for Dastan, supposedly to ensure his brother didn't get his throat slit by muttering some peasant's lurid tit-bit around the Princess, but he was really just waiting for _her_.

And he hadn't needed to wait long.

"Looking for something, Prince? Surely I don't require a personal escort by the leader of Persia's illustrious armies."

Ah. And to think he had wondered if the use of that rapier wit was a one-time event.

"You can never be too careful," he replied pleasantly, uncrossing his arms and straightening from his resting place against a marble pillar. "But no, I wouldn't waste my time." As her brow arched in silent query, he smirked. "You'd flay anyone who accosted you with your words alone."

Tamina's eyes considered him for a moment and he would have missed the slight upward twitch of her lips if he hadn't been paying so close attention.

"Be that as it may, I have to ask why you're cluttering our hallways with your presence. Don't you have innocent cities to pillage and plunder?"

Gritting his teeth to hold back the biting retort he was tempted to give, Garsiv reminded himself that if she was to be family a little civility was required from here on out. Forcing a smile, he attempted something a little more polite. "You wound me, Princess. Even barbarians need rest."

Tamina snorted. If she hadn't already stood out in his mind, that action alone would have made it so. She was unlike any Princess, or any woman in power, he had ever met before. "No rest for the wicked."

"Even so."

Again she considered him, and Garsiv felt the eerie sensation of his deepest thoughts being stripped bare by her gaze.

Unnerved, he rested a hand against the comforting cold steel of his sword's hilt and decided, to hell with civility. "Though you were partially right before. I have come to offer my services to you."

"Your services?" She repeated, her derisive tone making the words themselves sound dirty and repulsive.

She was above his help then, was she? "A few soldiers to bolster your depleted army. I can offer several companies of men that would greatly—"

"We do not need your charity, Prince," Tamina bit out, holding herself rigidly before him. "We have plenty enough soldiers in our ranks to defend ourselves. Alamut had not been breached in a thousand years!"

"Is that so?" Maybe she was stupid after all. "I must have imagined how deceptively easy it was to break through your heavily guarded walls. These soldiers of yours are hiding elsewhere, then? Behind rocks, are they?" Leaning sideways, feigning a cursory glance behind the pillar next to him as if searching for the hidden soldiers he spoke of, Garsiv had to bite his lip against the chuckle that threatened to form as Tamina's aggravation grew. "Use the men for slaves instead, people to do your servant work. Maids, messengers even." Sneering he added, "Anything to save the city's royalty from lowering herself to do an inferior's work." Such as fetching Persian Princes from their private rooms.

"We have more than enough people in our care, Persian—"

"Could have fooled me."

A strangled sound of frustration slipped from her lips, and Garsiv didn't bother to wipe his smugness away as the Princess' eyes flashed and her cheeks flushed with anger. The air around her practically radiated her fury, and Garsiv knew that if she were a man, he would have been beaten to a pulp within minutes.

She was spectacular.

"Leave. _Now_. Or alliance or not I will order for your death. And believe me, Persian, we Alamutians know a thing or two about eliminating our enemies from time itself."

Giving way to the urge to laugh, Garsiv bowed elaborately and turned his back on her, walking briskly from her sight.

There had been no point to that meeting, none at all. He'd only wanted to get another rise out of her, and the spit-fire had delivered beautifully. He felt somewhat like a cat toying with its prey.

No doubt Dastan would call a stop to his fun shortly. Damn him.


	2. Chapter 2

A full day passed before the brothers received news from their father. They were lounging comfortably in a private chamber of the Alamutian palace and enjoying a moment of respite when their peace was interrupted. A messenger was escorted in.

Tus, perusing the missive with a slight frown creasing his face, dismissed the courier with a wave of his hand. Sighing, he advised his brothers, "Our father has interrupted his prayers at the eastern palace to join us."

"No doubt to commend us on our great victory," Dastan intoned, though the odd smirk tugging at the corner of his lips belied the dully spoken words.

Curious about this and other strange behaviour Dastan had been displaying recently, Garsiv followed through with the insatiable urge he had to soundly thump his brother in the arm. Dastan cursed and clutched pitifully at his sore limb before leaning over and attempted to deal a similar blow. Garsiv, of course, returned the sentiment with another heavy clout to Dastan's arm.

Tus settled comfortably in his seat, indulging his brothers for a moment as they scrapped like children, until they seemed to tire of their antics. "Have you two quite finished?"

"Of course, brother, my apologies," Garsiv said with one last elbow to Dastan's unprotected side. His brothers' glares only doubled his amusement.

With one last long look for his younger brothers, Tus waved for a goblet of wine to be brought to him. "We will seek father's approval for your marriage to the Princess, Dastan."

Remembering his thoughts of the previous afternoon, Garsiv suppressed a guffaw. Dastan couldn't even handle a little harmless needling from _him_, how was he supposed to deal with the Princess in all her glory? Gods prepare Dastan for the trials of her anger.

"Something amuses you, brother?"

At Dastan's curious stare, Garsiv propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and smirked. "She is a little feisty for you, don't you think?"

"Garsiv." His younger brother's frown was unsurprising, but at Tus' warning tone, he arched a brow.

"They will be like two bulls in a pen, constantly fighting for dominance." Smirking down at his wine, he added, "Though I wager her horns are sharper than yours."

His amusement waned however when he looked up to see that not only had Dastan's frown dissolved, but it had been replaced by a disconcertingly smug smile.

"And what is amusing you, little brother?" He bit out.

"I think you'll find you're wrong," Dastan said.

Garsiv snorted. "I'm never wrong."

"That," Tus interrupted, looking pointedly at Garsiv. "Is not entirely true, is it?"

Clenching his jaw at the look in his brothers' eyes, the reminder of his failed attempt on Alamut's main gate, Garsiv placed his goblet down a little too hard. The remaining wine sloshing up and over the sides.

As Tus quickly called for a maid to clean up the mess, Garsiv watched Dastan rise to his feet.

"Where are you off to?"

A secretive smile gave him his answer before Dastan even replied. "To see my betrothed."

"She is not truly your betrothed," Tus cautioned. "Not yet. We must present her to the King when he arrives."

Unfazed by the council, Dastan continued toward the door. "Nothing wrong with cultivating the relationship."

Thinking about his interactions with her the previous day, Garsiv found reason to chuckle again. Both brothers sent him a questioning look, but Garsiv waved them off.

"Go see your little woman."

* * *

><p>Tamina was surprised at the easy camaraderie she managed to find with Prince Dastan. When she happened upon him that afternoon loitering on her private balcony, a feat she had demanded an explanation for due to the sheer height of the walls surrounding her little oasis, he had smiled impishly at her. Then he flashed those soft blue eyes and she'd quickly forgotten her ire as he told her that their betrothal might not be permanent, and that he hoped to present her to their King when he arrived.<p>

"And what if your King refuses me?" She had asked.

"He won't," Dastan had replied, a knowing glint in his eye, before assuring her that Sharaman would consider her a fine queen. His smiled deepened when hers blossomed at the compliment, and when he offered for her to walk with him around the courtyard below she fell into step easily beside him.

Now they walked in an amiable silence; another not unwelcome surprise. Prince Dastan was in total contrast to any of her first assumptions. Oh, she knew he was a warrior, of course, but he wasn't the hard-hearted, single-minded soldier she had believed him to be.

Not like _him_.

A scowl twisted her features and Dastan, his shrewd eyes catching the expression, asked if anything was the matter. Masking her anger with a serene smile, Tamina assured him she was fine and they continued to walk in silence. But her mind was not silent. It lingered on Dastan's brother, and her annoyance at the man festered.

How dare he speak to her in such a way? Had he no respect for her, for all women, or was that sharp-edged tongue a weapon he wielded against any poor soul he came across?

"Your brother, Garsiv," Tamina started hesitantly, unsure of how she could delicately explain her thoughts.

If Dastan had issue with the subject of his brother, he didn't show it when he asked, "What of him?"

"He doesn't much care for me." That was a vast understatement.

Dastan shrugged, but she could see the smile he tried to keep from his lips. "He doesn't much care for anyone but himself."

Tamina let out a heavy breath that caused the hair falling across her forehead to ruffle. "Is he normally so crude and forthright?"

Chuckling, Dastan nodded. "His patience is non-existent. His temper is always close to the surface. If you were a man, he'd just as likely hit you as shake your hand. But," his smile softened, and a content look crossed his face. "He is the most loyal man you will ever meet. Right or wrong, his sword is ready to protect whatever he believes in."

She mused over that for a little while. "You sound proud to have him at your back."

"He hasn't always been at my back, but I'm glad to have him there now."

That little piece of information, that glimpse into what kind of life these brothers lived had her curiosity mounting, but Tamina kept her prying questions to herself. _For now,_ she thought.

And yet– "I wonder if he would stand at my back."

At this moment in time the idea was laughable, but she mused aloud regardless.

Dastan smiled a warm, delightful smile at her words, one that made her wonder what she had done to earn his admiration so quickly.

"When the King approves our union, I would guarantee his loyalty."

"What if I don't approve of the union?" she asked him, a smile taking the bite from her words.

"I'll persuade you." His eyes were dancing with mirth when they met hers.

* * *

><p>"They are boys."<p>

Tus laughed at his critical opinion of the fighters below. "They are capable soldiers!"

"Our soldiers overcame them easily. They are too used to hiding behind these walls." Garsiv looked on in disdain as what was left of the Alamutian army trained in the yard below. Watching from the parapet, they had a wide view of their fighting style and competence – or, lack thereof. "I wager they haven't fought a real enemy like us in years."

"We are not their enemy, brother," Tus pointed out.

"We were just a few mornings ago when we invaded their land and bombarded their city."

Sighing, Tus scratched at his unruly beard in thought. "The people of Alamut now believe that our invasion was political. With Dastan's intervention the battle was not the massacre it would have become."

His pride stung at those words. _I ride at the head of the Persian army,_ he thought, mockingly repeating his own foolish argument. _Dastan leads a company of street rabble._ Dastan had commented that the thieves and street thugs he called soldiers were handy in a fight, but Garsiv had always doubted their skill in real battle. He had underestimated their resourcefulness.

But he'd eat his helmet before he told his brother as much.

"They're untried in battle," he said instead, "Training under the eye of priests and peace mongers. Alamut is Persian now."

"Your point?"

His mind made up, Garsiv began to stride away. "If we are to hold this kingdom, I will not have boys defending its walls."

He searched the palace for the old man regent to call an audience with the leader of Alamut's armies.

He refused to allow weakness into their ranks, and had plans to double Alamut's numbers. Persia's army was vast and strong, and Dastan had led less than twenty men through the gate to open the city to their full force. He would see these walls fortified so that mistake would not happen again while the kingdom was under Persian rule.

Alamut's regent stood amongst priests and servants, directing them to their duties for the afternoon. Garsiv squashed the urge to clear his throat to gain the old man's attention. Instead he waited, watching the sun's shadows growing longer as moments passed.

He addressed the man as soon as an opportunity presented. "I must speak with your army's Commander."

"He's dead," Tamina interrupted.

He turned to face her, standing amongst the servants dispensing incense, oils and linens.

Tamina's gut twisted at uttering those words. Though there was no love lost between herself and the Commander, his death in the battle brought her great sadness. They had not always seen eye to eye, but the man had been well respected among his ranks, and she appreciated his experience.

The same could not be said about the brute in front of her, despite the qualities he shared with the dead. He did not even have the decency to show remorse for the lives lost at his hand.

"The next man in charge then. I must tour your army's facilities and the city's defences."

His tone and words made her bristle, just as everything the wretch did. "I will show you."

Derision twisted his features. "Do you not have some gods to prostrate yourself to?"

She smiled through gritted teeth. "For you, I can spare the time."

Their bickering was garnering a lot of interest from the people still nearby. The Prince noticed, and she almost heard his growl of frustration. "Tomorrow morning. First the barracks and training yard, then the city itself."

Tamina nodded. "Tomorrow morning."

* * *

><p>Before they departed, Dastan had asked if she wished his company, to run interference between her and his brother. None had been more surprised than Tamina when she turned down his offer. A hasty decision, it seemed. The first tense moment flared before they had even left the palace walls.<p>

"Where is your champion?" The Prince had asked.

"Asoka?" Tamina blinked at the question. "Seeing to his duties."

She watched his jaw clench. "Is his duty not to accompany and protect you?"

"Are you implying you will not fulfil the role adequately, Persian?"

His brow furrowed and his nose flared as she questioned him. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for her to leave.

He asked simple questions to begin with as they walked through the city streets. Market days, transference of product from the outer farms to within the city walls, frequency of bandit raids; questions she would not have expected from a simple minded warrior, but a Prince? Yes, a wise Prince should be aware of such things.

They continued on in the same vein, the Persian drawing information from her so he could piece together the nature of their defences and the army's control. That they managed to refrain from no more than the occasional barb made a grudging respect for the man blossom. His dedication to the task at hand was necessary, and so he quelled his ire to see the duty done – as would she.

"Keep up, Princess."

Mostly.

Chin rising, she strode past him down an alley, leaving the Prince to walk in her wake.

If he had a problem with following behind her, he did not voice it. "The cliffs surrounding the valley provide excellent views of the entirety of your land, when the skies are clear." His voice was tight. Perhaps he did have issue after all. "Sentries?"

"Scouts," she clarified. "It is too arid for anyone to live permanently at the heights. Scouts have been adequate to see to our protection."

"And your protection? How often do you wander the city?"

Tamina sighed. Did he think her a flower, too delicate to step outside the palace walls? "These streets are quite safe. My people are good and trustworthy."

"But it is not your people you are alone with now, Princess."

The sharp point of a blade pressing into the flesh of her back made Tamina break step. She hadn't even heard him draw his sword.

His face was passive when she turned to face him, his sword hovering a breath away from her abdomen.

"I could leave you for dead on these streets," Garsiv told her, his sharp gaze holding hers. His sword rose to rest on her shoulder, the metal cold through the thin cloth of her robes. "How long would it take someone to find you? Moments? Days?"

Meeting his eyes, Tamina found she didn't have to answer for him to know.

A smirk briefly touched his features. "Your champion should always accompany you." He sheathed his sword and stalked off.

Her mind wouldn't settle —he had threatened her life in jest!— but it seemed their tour was over. The Persian Prince led the way back to the palace in silence.

Just as well she kept her mouth shut, as Garsiv was seething.

The little fool had marched herself into a darkened alley. He had watched no less than three vagrants, all of whom in their poverty-weakened state could have overcome the slight woman, eye their passing. He had drawn his sword to frighten the strays, who promptly scampered. With steel in hand, an idea to teach the Princess a lesson hatched, one that finally brought to light her lapse in judgement.

Upon returning to the palace, the Princess' champion was training in the yard with the Alamutians and some of Garsiv's own men. Garsiv demanded to see him.

She enflamed him, igniting his temper, and her champion would bear the brunt of it.

* * *

><p>"Persian!" Her voice carried loudly through the marbled halls as she gained entrance to his private chambers. "I demand to know—" But her voice strangled to a halt as she looked upon the Persian before her.<p>

Chain mail dropped noisily to the floor as he stripped off his clothing, his shirt following soon after as if he hadn't heard her stomping and yelling behind him. A tub of water steamed beside him as he prepared to bathe, and as he finally turned to address her, Tamina couldn't find the use of her tongue. She tried to ignore the expanse of golden skin and toned flesh on display, but she was struck dumb by the sight of him.

"Find what you were looking for, Princess?"

There. That was all it took. The infuriating smirk on his face coupled with those deliberately provocative words brought her eyes snapping up to meet his. She found her voice. "I demand to know what on earth possessed you this afternoon. How dare you address my champion in such a way, questioning his skills as a warrior and demoralising him before your soldiers and mine?"

The Prince just stared at her for a time, as if deciding whether he should heed her request for answers or ignore her and continue with his … activity. A small part of her, deep down, wondered if either option would be a bad one.

"He was at fault," the Persian said finally. "And now he knows it. Do not try to belittle the lesson, Princess. You will not be alone on the streets again, not while we still reside within your walls." Prince Garsiv moved to return to his task, but his gaze hardened and he turned back to face her. "I suggest you remind him of his duty if the occasion arises that I am not here to corral him."

Tamina gaped at the Prince, fury mounting at his gall in undermining her authority. "What right do you have—?"

"As the leader of Persia's armies, and now your own, I have every right."

They stared at each other. Tamina bit her tongue, trying to calm her thoughts. She reminded herself that there would be no dealing with him if she continued to let her emotions get the better of her. The problem was that her traitorous mind had the ill-sense to point out that the Prince was in fact right, while her scattered emotions were having a hard time accepting such a thing.

"You may have a point," she allowed, gritting her teeth in frustrating. "But I still do not agree with your methods."

"Of course you don't, but they were effective. Now," Bending to collect a pouch of bathing salts, Prince Garsiv motioned toward the door. "I suggest you leave."

He was dismissing her? Of all the despicable, spiteful men in these lands, she had to be lumped with him! "I will not, I—"

"_Tamina_."

The use of her name and the tone of his voice brought Tamina up short. He hadn't addressed her with anything other than her title since they met. Meeting the Prince's gaze and seeing the seriousness in the depths of his eyes, her jaw snapped shut.

"You are alone in the room of a man who is not your betrothed while he is in a state of undress. _Leave_."

The reminder of both his naked torso and her obvious slip in propriety had her cheeks colouring. She turned her back to him and stalked to the door.

"Of all the backwards, uneducated kingdoms …"

The distraction of his muttered words caused her to half turn as she stepped out of the room, and in doing so she caught sight of Garsiv's movements as he loosened his breeches.

Face burning red, Tamina blamed her shortness of breath on her rapid pace as she hurried back through the palace to the privacy of her rooms.


End file.
